The First Gladers

Chapter 8: Exploring the Maze

Chris shrugs, "Alby and Will went over to help Alex so I figured I'd come help you."

"Thanks, I think I've got it covered though." You respond. After what happened two nights ago, you're not really wanting to spend time alone with Chris.

"Oh come on Y/n. Let me help. You've done half a row in the past hour. You stoped to stare at Alex while he chased that chicken for a solid 15 minutes!"

"Ten."

"What?"

"It was only ten minutes."

Chris laughs heartily while you roll your eyes. "Fine, ten minutes. But admit it, you could use some help." Chris adds with a pout.

"Yeah yeah, whatever. Just don't get in my way." You respond with a laugh.

Chris grins widely and grabs the bags of seeds. Following your instructions, he plants the seeds in the correct rows while you continue to tear up more turf making more rows.

You watch as Chris opens his mouth to speak then closes it. He does it again minutes later. Then again, and again, and again.

"Good grief Chris, what is it?" You ask, impatiently.

Chris's face flushes red. "I... I was just wondering about the other night.

You wince. Of course that's what he was thinking. That's what you've been thinking too.

"Oh, yeah." You say.

Silence.

"What was that all about?" Chris questions, not wanting to let the conversation slip.

"I don't know. I think it was just a memory trying to break free from whatever is trapping all of our memories." You respond, trying to shrug it off. You know it was more than that, but you don't want it to be more.

"Yeah... I guess so..." Chris adds.

Silence.

You continue working the field, stroke after stroke, tearing into the ground. Then one of your blisters rips open.

"Shuck." You mutter under your breath, dropping the garden hoe.

"You ok!?" Chris asks, walking over to you.

"Yeah, I'm fine. Just tore up my hands with this shucky thing." You grumble.

"You go get that cleaned up, I'll finish the row." Chris offers.

You sigh. "Alright, thanks Chris."

You walk over to Alby and ask him where the bandages are.

"Over in the Homestead." Alby answers, pointing to the building with the bedrooms.

"Homestead?" You question.

"Oh, yeah, just another piece of random terminology from Alex. At one point today he just got up and said, 'I'm going to rest up in the Homestead for a bit.' When we asked him why he called it that, he just shrugged and said, 'It just fits.' We didn't question it further." Alby explains. You nod incredulously. Alex is quite a creative thinker.

 It's been three days since the box went back down. You've planted 17 rows of crops, built a shabby stable for the animals and learned that Will is a horrible cook. Now, You, Alby, Chris, Alex, and Will are about to start exploring the Maze. The Five of you stand by the door, sweating anxiously as you wait for the doors to open. You glance nervously over to Alby, who looks just as terrified as you. You pat him encouragingly on the shoulder, then turn your gaze toward the doors as they start to grind their way apart. Nerves dance through your body, making you shift uncomfortably. As long as you make it back before the sun sets, you'll be ok.

"Alright, everyone. Leave behind a trail of bread crumbs as you go, when you run out of bread, come back. If you haven't run out of bread by noon, come back anyway, we won't lose anyone else to the Maze. Try your best to remember the way you went, if we can map this place out, it'll be easier to find a way out." You instruct, handing each boy five slices of bread.

The boys nod in understanding and you turn back to face the Maze. After your last experience in the Maze, you fear not coming back in time. But you still have to go, no matter how afraid you are.

"Alright guys, let's go." You command, taking the first step into the Maze.

Turn after turn you run, tearing off small pieces of bread as you go. No way you're getting lost this time. As expected, every turn and every corridor is exactly the same. No signs or clues or anything to help you find a way out. Around noon, you stop for a break. You sit with your back against the cold stone wall and close your eyes, listening to the wind blow through the halls. Click. Clack. Click Click whirr... Your eyes shoot open, scanning the area around you. Clack... Whirr... Click Click. You jump to your feet when a smell of burnt flesh fills your nostrils. CLICK CLICK WHIRR... CLICK CLACK WHIRR... You take tentative steps backward, in the direction of your bread trail as the sounds of metal against stone grow nearer. Then, from around the corner, like a hunter springing out in front of its prey, the Griever comes whirring and clicking toward you at startling speeds. You spin on your heal, running like your life depends on it, because it does. The Griever screeches, rearing back, lunging into the chase. You might've screamed, although if you had you wouldn't know it. Your fear drives out all sounds, all pain, and all thoughts other than RUN. You try to focus on your trail of bread, but all at once you lose it. Panic screams in your mind as you continue to run. The Griever is inches away from you, spikes pulsating in and out of its body with sickening squishes. The smell of burnt flesh is now so strong, it's overwhelming, numbing your mind. Sharp metal clasps around your leg and you slam into the ground face first. You can't think. You let out a blood-curdling scream as the creature drags you backward with its sharp claw. Your face scrapes across the ground, the rough stone ripping off layers of skin. The Griever lifts you off the ground, dangling you upside down. You cry out in pain and the blade of the claw digs into the flesh of your leg. The Griever points one of its arms at you as if aiming. Attached to the arm is some sort of injector. You shut your eyes tight, waiting for the pain. Someone shouts from down the hall.

"Hey, Ugly! Let her Go!"

The Griever does just that. You fall to the ground head first. Your skull smacks against the stone with a sickening crack. Your vision becomes blurred and your eyes feel heavy. Suddenly you're exhausted and now seems to be a perfect time for a nap.